


Falling Water

by keraunoscopia



Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Light Angst, Post-Episode: s02e07 Weather the Storm, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: “Like hell I will,” Andy growls out, throwing the blankets back down, and she winces as she pulls her legs over the side of the bed, cast leg sticking straight out in front of her. She sucks in a deep breath, mind over matter, mind over matter, she choruses, trying to ignore the sharp, mind numbing pain radiating from her leg. “Where is he? Where’s Sullivan? I need to see him.”





	Falling Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quakeskyedaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeskyedaisy/gifts).



> From a tumblr prompt. First time writing these two, we'll see how it goes!

The blue of hospital blankets pool at her waist as she prys herself up into a sort of sitting position, only vaguely aware of the stiff plaster cast circling her arm from wrist to bicep, and she looks around, eyes flashing wildly, heart thudding in her chest, the swell of adrenaline flooding her system as panic sets in. Panic because she doesn’t know where she is, panic because she doesn’t know where he is, where their patient is. Panic because the last thing she remembers is her own scream echoing in her ears, an arm flung against her chest, a useless attempt to keep her safe as the rig tipped over the edge of the road nose first, tumbling down the embankment. 

“Easy, easy,” a soft, pleasant voice soothes, and a hand against her shoulder presses her firmly back into the bed, even against the heavy heaving of her chest, like she can’t quite catch her breath. Andy’s wide eyes finally settle on the woman, dressed in light blue scrubs. “You were in an accident, you’re in the hospital, just settle down,” she encourages even as Andy tries to throw her legs over the side of the bed, and a pain sears from her toe to her hip. “Yeah, stay in bed, you broke your arm, and a leg, they had to go in and put in a metal rod so you’re gonna need to give yourself time to heal.” 

Andy takes a breath, like she’s finally realizes where she is, who’s standing in front of her. “Where’s the patient I was with? Where’s Sullivan?” Her voice cracks from disuse, a sort of desperate, urgent tinge, but the doctor just shakes her head, pulls the blanket up further across Andy’s abdomen. “Are they alive? Are they okay.” 

“Just worry about yourself for now, they’re in good hands, okay?” The doctor encourages, glancing at the monitor, the erratic line of her heart beat only growing more wild. 

“Like hell I will,” Andy growls out, throwing the blankets back down, and she winces as she pulls her legs over the side of the bed, cast leg sticking straight out in front of her. She sucks in a deep breath, mind over matter, mind over matter, she choruses, trying to ignore the sharp, mind numbing pain radiating from her leg. “Where is he? Where’s Sullivan? I need to see him.” 

If she took the time to think about it, she likely wouldn’t be able to explain why exactly she felt such an urgent need to see him. Really what she wants is to know that he’s okay, that he’s alive, that whatever’s wrong can be healed, but its not rational. It’s just this sort of compulsion driving her out of bed and to the door, hobbling unsteady on one foot, trying not to put any weight on the cast as she fights against the doctor’s hands. She needs to see him, with every fiber of her being, she needs to, even if she can’t explain why. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” the doctor chastises as Andy’s strength fades quickly, and she falls back onto the bed, hot tears welling in her eyes, chest heaving as she pants, the exertion more than her already expended body can take. 

“Please,” it comes out halfway between a strangled sob and a scream, “let me see him, take me there.” Her hands are screwed into fists so tightly that her fingernails sink into the fleshy part of her palms. She’s never been good at rational, not when she’s upset, and the hazy cocktail of whatever sort of medications they have her on don’t seem to help the situation. 

The doctor sighs heavily as Andy sags defeatedly back against the hospital bed. “You’re going to try and get out of this bed the moment I leave you alone, aren’t you?” She asks with a sort of exasperated, but knowing tone. Andy just nods. “Your partner, he’s in the ICU. I’ll take you there, for a few minutes, if you promise me that you’ll stop trying to get out of bed.” 

Andy nods, all of the fight fading out of her in an instant. “I promise. Just let me see him.” 

The doctor helps her into a wheelchair, and just the slight exertion has Andy panting again, but she’s quiet now, not about to push her luck, because there’s only one thing on her mind, the only thing that will stop her internal hypothesizing of worst case scenarios. 

She hated Sullivan. That’s what she’d said only a few weeks earlier, what she’d told her father. She hated him. And she had, in this incredibly uncomfortable, self-doubting sort of way. But things had changed, undeniably, and she’s not sure when exactly they had, but she knows the thought of him in critical care, hanging on for dear life has her stomach twisted into celtic knots. 

She doesn’t know what this feeling is, doesn’t want to think about it, can’t really think about it, not with the way she’s spiraling. Not with the knowledge that he might not make it. He wanted the best for all of them, she understands that now. That the cold aloofness as protection, a wall built up around a heart he was still working to piece back together. He seems human now, in a way he hadn’t before. 

The trip is a long one, pushed at a painfully slow sort of pace, up an elevator. She realizes now that she was in the recovery room before, that in comparison she’d fared quite well. A broken arm and broken leg, mild concussion, they’ll put her out of commission for a frustratingly long time, but she had been lucky, all things considered.

Somehow, her heart thuds even louder against her chest, the heavy thrum reverberating against her rib cage as they approach the door to Sullivan’s room. The doctor explains that she’s not on his case, but from what she knows he was in much worse shape, that he has all sorts of internal injuries, that his spleen had ruptured from the force of the seatbelt against his abdomen, that he’s got broken bones and a concussion much worse than hers. Andy knows that the doctor is telling her all this to prepare her, that it’s not going to be a pretty sight, but she can’t imagine it. 

If there’s one thing Sullivan seems like, its indestructible. And maybe that’s some sort of holdover from her image of him as a machine, but it’s true. He’s solid and unwavering, strong and set like a boulder in the earth. He’s always seen untouchable, like fingertips against his skin wouldn’t even blanch, like if you hit him, he wouldn’t bruise. 

“Here we are,” the doctor says as they reach an open doorway, and Andy sucks in a deep breath to prepare herself, just a little bit of extra oxygen to the brain as the doctor wheels her inside. 

Andy’s not sure what she was expecting, but this isn’t it. The blue blankets are pulled up to his chest, one arm cast in plaster, the other with an incision down across his elbow, ten inches of skin held together with the familiar gnarled black knots of stitches. And his face looks a little worse for ware, stitches holding together another laceration above his eye, and his skin has a sort of blue and purple hue, bruises only just starting to heal. 

Andy tries to take in another breath, but it catches in her throat, because he looks so weak, so helpless, so close to death, and it’s not something she ever thought she’d see. “Closer,” she whispers to the doctor, craning forward in the chair. He looks like he could be dead already, despite the insistent steady beep of the heart monitor next to his head. The doctor pushes her up next to the bed, and drops a comforting hand on Andy’s shoulder. 

“I’ll give you a few minutes,” she announces before she leaves the room, but Andy hardly notices. Instead, she reaches her uncast hand up to the side of the bed, and she hesitates for a moment before letting her fingertips settle on his wrist, so light and ginger, like maybe he’ll flinch away, even unconscious. But his hand remains lifeless, and Andy winds her hand around his, squeezing tightly, heart still pounding an unyielding beat against her chest. They’re trained to save people, all of them, and she knows that most of it is instinct, that the only way to overcome a human fear of dying is to train so hard that your reaction is to run to danger, instead of away, that they all have this drive to protect people. 

But still, every time she blinks, every time her eyes close slightly, all she can see is the abyss of the embankment they rolled into, and all she can feel is his arm across her chest, trying to steady her, trying to save her. It means nothing, she knows that. It’s a reaction, it wouldn’t have mattered who was sitting in that seat. But at the same time, it’s everything.

Andy flinches as the hand in her grip tightens around her fingers, and she almost pulls away, so taken aback. She knows he hasn’t regained consciousness since the accident, the doctor hand told her that much, but she glances up to his face, where his eyes struggle to open, the heaviness of sedation still weighing on his eyelids. She moves to withdraw her hand, but his just tightens around hers, like he knows she’s trying to pull away and wants to stop her.

“Andy,” he breathes out a soft sigh. “You’re okay.”


End file.
